


those silk shiny stockings

by crooked



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:06:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/pseuds/crooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thigh-highs solve your problems and make you more attractive? Grantaire tests this theory out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	those silk shiny stockings

**Author's Note:**

> [attackofthechewenod](http://attackofthechewenod.tumblr.com/post/60072627327/that-funny-thigh-high-stockings-post-going-around) said the thing and then i did the thing.

It might be the most ridiculous idea he's ever had, Grantaire realizes, looking at his reflection in the full-length mirror.

He usually avoids the thing altogether, and he'd have taken it off the back of the bathroom door if it wasn't bolted there and if he didn't want his security deposit back when he moves. But it comes in handy at the moment because how else is he supposed to take in the sight of his legs clad in black thigh-high stockings? With a seam up the back. The seam wasn't a conscious decision; it was the first package he picked up. He supposes they do add a little something, but the internet lied to him. _Again_.

Because Grantaire's problems have most definitely not been solved. The chief problem in his life, Enjolras, is still the most maddening, impossible-to-solve problem he's always been. And as he scrunches up his face and studies his reflection more closely, he doesn't see any heightened attractiveness either. He's the same ol' Grantaire, only he's clad in just a pair of boxer-briefs and those thigh-highs. Other than that, Grantaire really feels no different at all.

He sighs and opens the door, intending to repackage the damn things and see if he can't get his money back. But Grantaire stops in his tracks midway down the hall to his bedroom because something _squeaks_.

Not something, he discovers as he whirls around. Someone.

Enjolras.

His friends know he has a terrible habit of keeping his door unlocked when he's home, so it's not unusual to find one or more of them suddenly in his apartment. But it's a little unusual for them to find him in a pair of thigh-high stockings.

Grantaire's immediate reaction is to flush a deep shade of red, rub at the back of his neck and bite his lip as he tries (and fails) to come up with some sort of plausible explanation for this. "Hey," he says, finally, because fuck it.

Enjolras' reaction isn't that different from his own, though. Grantaire sees that he's flushed and he's reached out to grasp the back of the sofa, as though the sight before him was just too much. "Hey," Enjolras breathes in reply, and Grantaire can't help but notice that his eyes are focused on his legs. That only make him blush harder.

"I, uh, was just... see, this thing I read..." he says, and it sounds too ridiculous in his head to say out loud.

But Enjolras doesn't let him continue. He steps toward Grantaire, stopping so much closer than he'd expected him to come, and reaches down to brush his fingertips just along the top of one stocking. He touches skin and silk in equal measure and Grantaire feels like his knees are going to buckle.

"Do you wear these often?" Enjolras asks, his voice low and his eyes finally flicking up to gaze into Grantaire's. He's almost too close to bear, but Grantaire couldn't move away from him if he wanted to. Which he doesn't.

"No," he says, and it's all he can say, shaking his head faintly. If he sounds a little breathless, who can blame him?

Enjolras' tongue darts out to wet his lips and, _oh_ , that is just about as much as Grantaire can stand. But then he leans in just a bit, his hand trailing a little higher on Grantaire's thigh, on bare skin, and says, "Well, you should."

The shiver that runs through Grantaire's entire body has to be visible because Enjolras' grin looks so smug as he moves back. He reaches into his messenger bag and produces a stack of fliers, pressing them against Grantaire's chest until he comes to his senses and lifts his arms to hold them in place. "Came by to see if you could drop these off around the art school campus for me," Enjolras says. "I'd really appreciate it."

Grantaire just nods because he's still not over what just happened. He isn't even sure it actually did.

"Thanks, R," Enjolras says with a smile, walking backwards to the front door. "I owe you one." He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, and the way Enjolras' eyes rake over his body is enough to make Grantaire's toes curl. He makes a little hum of approval before departing with a 'bye'. Grantaire can do nothing but stand there, rooted to the spot, clutching the fliers for who knows what event and staring at the closed door. Two minutes or two days could have passed until he can think and function again, and he wouldn't know the difference.

But when he finally can move, the first thing Grantaire does is get dressed and head out to buy more thigh-highs.


End file.
